


The Lyrium/Sugar Conversion

by NoelBlue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Food Kink, Food Sex, Humor, Intimacy, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelBlue/pseuds/NoelBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my first DA:I Kink Meme fill - the requester wanted Cullen stress-baking, a female inquisitor, and kinky sex. As always, I couldn't stop myself from adding all that pre-sex conversation I'm too fond of. </p><p>Also, now I want cake. (But maybe not this one...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lyrium/Sugar Conversion

"Damn that cook," Cullen muttered, and slammed a fist on the table. "How many times do I have to tell him to order the Orlesian sugar, not this Nevarran shite?" The man must have been pocketing the extra money he'd received directly from Cullen and hoping the commander wouldn't notice the difference. That's what happened when you trusted a known bastard who openly abused his staff, he thought, even if that abusive bastard was a genius with food.  
But he would use it, of course, because he had no other choice if he wanted to finish the fruit cake that night. And he did indeed want to finish that cake, because what was the point otherwise? Still, it seemed like a bit of a waste to use the beautiful yet already softening raspberries he'd bought to top a cake made of subpar ingredients.

Nothing to be done now, he thought, and threw in the mediocre sugar with a scowl. 

As the stones in the oven began to heat and he methodically churned the ingredients together, Cullen felt his nerves begin to steady, and the jagged edge of his need begin to dull. The shakes had been bad and the sweats even worse; it was winter and very cold at Skyhold, yet that night he felt as if he was buried in the armpit of the worst of Ferelden's summer. Deeply uncomfortable in his own itchy skin and too jittery to fall back asleep, he had turned to a rediscovered ability and outlet for his cravings and energy: baking. Sweets, to be exact, although the kitchen was not always stocked for more than a round of biscuits. 

The subtle tremor in his hand was hard to ignore, but he did his best. Maker, this was a hard attack. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Just had to pour it into the pan, put it in the oven, pace the kitchen for a bit, and -  
"Cullen?"  
His eyes snapped open and he turned around. "Inquisitor?" Yes, it was her, standing there in a comfortable pair of black cotton breeches and a loose shirt that could not cover the lovely swell of her perfect breasts. Her hair was soft and appeared damp, and had been twisted with a leather tie before being allowed to fall over her shoulder. 

It was as if every time he saw her it was the first time, as he was struck anew with how perfect she was. Especially that all-knowing smile. She had a bottle in her hand, which she put on the table before coming towards him. He gathered her hands in his, and kissed them lightly before letting them fall.  
"You know you don't have to call me that when we're alone."

"I'm sorry; it's habit. I thought you were due back from Crestwood tomorrow at the earliest?" He didn't mean to be so formal. In truth, his heart quickened considerably at the sight of her, and the world always brightened when she was near, or if he even knew she was back at Skyhold. But of all times for her to walk into the kitchen... 

"Oh, the keep took much less time to overtake than we calculated. Bloody fools who could barely hold swords. I felt a bit sorry for them, to be honest. What are you doing?" 

"Well, I'm... it's..." He was at a loss for words. How was he to explain his stupid habit? What was he, a fat Ferelden farm wife? How much would she laugh?

She put a hand on his chest with a gentle smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you nervous. I actually know exactly what you're doing. What are you making?"

"You do? How?" 

"Leliana, of course. She was up to welcome us as we arrived, and I asked her if she thought you were still awake. She said I'd find you here, baking, and that your... 'escorts' were especially worried about you tonight. Said you seemed pale and uneven." She reached up a hand to his forehead, playfully but carefully snagging a curl before pulling it away. "You're too warm. How are you doing? bad night?" 

Of course she was lovely and understanding, as she ever was, and radiated empathy without a touch of pressure. How was he so lucky? 

He quirked up the side of his mouth. "I've had better. Thus -" he indicated the mix, and the heating oven, "the baking. It settles my mind, and has since I was a boy."

"How old were you when you started, and where did you learn?" 

"Oh, 6, 7, from Mia, back before I left for the Templers. Our other siblings refused to be dragged into the kitchen, and I was always the one who gave in to her bullying the fastest." He chuckled at the memories. "She was an exacting taskmistress, but quick with a compliment when I did well, and even quicker to eat it all before anyone else could. That comfort and warmth stayed with me.

"When I do this... it feels like I'm putting my need into the bowl, and burning it away in the oven. It's idiotic, I know, just... it seems right. Complete. It takes time for it to be ready, but I know it's happening and I'm going to be victorious, like running a skirmish we're winning. When I'm done with something, when it comes out of the oven, I know I won't have another attack until another day." He smiled, and looked down at the scarred wooden table. "I must sound like a child." 

"You sound like a man." He felt the hands on his face, cool and strong, and he turned his cheek into one. "A fantastic, strong man of many talents." 

She had that look on her face, that little, cocky smile she got when she slipped into his office to ask him to meet her somewhere for a 'kiss', or when their eyes met across the war table after she'd been gone for several day and Cullen felt the temperature in the whole of his body rise in a way that was in pleasing contrast to his lyrium fever.

Why, just like it was doing now....  
\---------------------------------------------------

She was very happy that he was relaxing, and that deep furrow in his brow was smoothing out. There was something she was going to say, perhaps ask again what he was making, but before she could he had grabbed the back of her head with one large hand in that forceful yet tender way of his and captured her mouth, and then trapped her hands behind her.

"Mmmmm," she said with pleasure and lifted her hips to meet his, wrap her hands around that perfect, masculine neck of his and taste his warm skin. She licked his scar, and groaned as his hands open the ties of her shirt and one hand slipped under her breast, kneading gently. Suddenly, he pulled back, and she opened her eyes, startled. "What's wrong?" 

"You said something about Leliana's agents - do you think they're watching us now?" 

She laughed, and as she did so, took the opportunity to swipe a fingerful of cake batter to slip into her mouth. "Commander Rutherford, this is delicious, and is going to make a quite tasty something." His brow furrowed, and she rushed on with a burble. "Yes yes, sorry, Leliana's agents. I was rather hoping I might convince you to do fun things to me in here, and I made her absolutely promise to leave us alone. Hopefully we can trust her to stick to her word. But if not - " this time she snagged two berries, and popped one in her mouth and one in his, "we can ensure they are witnesses to a most interesting show. These raspberries are perfect; wherever did you find them?"

"You are impossible," he said with an affectionate tone that made her body tingle, "and it appears we're at the point the Inquisition can get anything it needs." She didn't have a chance to ask if he meant the fruit or the privacy, as with a swift, confident movement he swiped his own fingers in the bowl, and pushed her shirt down over her breast to drop the sticky mix on her skin and then take her nipple in his mouth, swirling and licking as the other hand played with her other. 

"Oh, Cullen," she said, and arched her back, wrapping her legs around his hips and letting him lift her up to the counter. She took another swipe at the bowl, putting one digit on her lips and lifted his head to kiss him, sharing the treat before putting the other to his mouth.

Cullen licked it with a devil of a small smile, and then his eyes widened and his face flushed as her palm landed on the fabric over his cock, rubbing against its hardened length and then squeezing just below the head, right how she knew he liked it. That boyish look on his face, mirrored with his tortured masculinity; it was one of her favorite expressions of his. Of course, she rather adored all his expressions... 

"It's like that, is it?" He said, and his voice was a growl, and suddenly her breeches were on the floor, his fingers were full, and then they were rubbing firmly between her legs, on the lips and at the nub that her advisor had quickly mastered as a tool of pleasure. Running his hands along her thighs down to her knees tenderly, slowly, he pushed her legs further apart - she had already opened them quite far in anticipation - he dropped to his knees and buried himself between her, sucking expertly as his tongue cleaned up the mess he'd made. 

Her lower body throbbed, and she felt the languid stream of ecstasy that began somewhere in her stomach turn into a rush when he moved his right hand and thrusted three fingers into her, hitting the spot deep inside her in a perfect movement that had her crying out his name, and possibly begging for more. When she came it was like a cannon ball of heat and lights throughout, and she was twitching when he brought his lips to hers so she could taste herself mixed with the lingering sweetness.

"May I?" he asked huskily, and she smiled at his politeness. 

"Please, please do," she said, reaching forward with impatient fingers to undo his front, and pull him free an toward her. 

The orgasm hadn't completely finished with her yet, and it re-kindled brightly as he moved inside her, letting out an 'oh' as he entered fully. Her legs tightened around his thighs and her fingers burying into his muscular, rounded ass she so enjoyed watching and feeling. 

Cullen said her name in his ear as the moved in rhythm, her hips ensuring that every motion was met with muscle and synchronicity, and her body began to feel once again like it was levitating. 

"Thank you, oh, fuck, yes -" she swore, and she felt him smile as he affirmed, and she came, near screaming, just as his movements became erratic and full of need, thrusting shorter and faster, bringing her to a point where she wasn't even sure this could be her own body... 

They rocked together several more times as Cullen continued to come, the waves of his hair coming lose from their wave, his lips red and his breath shallow. 

"Maker's breath, you are something else," He said in awe, and kissed her soundly before letting his head against his shoulder. "This night became much more than I thought it could." 

Her hands lazily moved along his back, and she sighed in agreement.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------  
As they both got dressed he watched her graceful movements with sleepy bemusement, somewhat seriously considering she must really be a creature sent from the divine to save not just the world, but one oft-troubled former templar. 

She caught his glance, and grinned. "Hmmmm." 

"What?" There it was again, that devilish look again. Maker, how it made him smile and feel like a younger man. 

She reached forward and tangled her hands in his soft chest hair, and chewed on her lower lip. "There's this Orlesian powder Varric has been getting for Bull to make into some sort of hot drink. It's dark, and rich, and bitter, and I wasn't sure that I even liked it at first. But I can't seem to get enough of it, and this one time he added sugar and cream... it was astounding, and it just occurred to me: what if you added that to one of your creations?" He felt her lips brush against his breastbone. "Just the thought of tasting it, all mixed up with you, your sweat, your essence..."

His smile widened, and he found his hand drifting to her breast, lightly taking one nipple between his fingers. She was still sensitive there, as the little hitch in her breathing and the twitch of her body demonstrated. "I'll talk to Varric about getting me some, if you'd like. The Bull might not like us diverting his supply, however."

"I do like, and the Bull will survive. He's got several other edible diversions to keep him and his carnivorous taste buds busy." She moved away from him to jump up on the wood table, but then pulled him - and his moving hands, back to her. "Shall you bake that cake now?" 

"I shall, although it will now be considerably smaller, and there won't be half as many raspberries. Also, we really shouldn't let anyone else eat this." 

"Those raspberries went down for a good cause, and I'm sure it'll still be wonderful." She popped the top off the Antivan wine, and handed it to him. "Everything you do is." 

"May you remember that next time you disagree with me at the war table, and call me an unsubtle militaristic mudstick," he said with an eyebrow, and took a very healthy swig. "Although I'd probably miss it sorely if you stopped." 

Her bright, deep laughter bounced around the stone kitchen, and was infectious; he almost found himself with a nose full of wine. As he handed back the bottle her fingers wrapped around his, and squeezed. 

He kissed their tips. "My love," he murmured, and turned back to his work, his mind full of her happy humming and the light drumbeat of her feet against the table. Some things, he understood, were far sweeter than sugar. 

Fini.


End file.
